


The Letter 'A'

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Prostitution, main pair is norway/iceland, there are lots of feelings too oop, whole bunch of other stuff as the fic goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be a prince and bed a prostitute is common, but to be a prince and buy a prostitute is less so. Least common of all is to fall in love with one. Before he is done, Sigurd Thomassen will have to face whether a heart can be purchased, and what the cost of it is to be. (Norway/Iceland is the central pairing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cobbled streets of Baer, dim and smoggy, were a sharp contrast to the bustling capital, but Sigurd could not bring himself to mind. A prince had no purpose to be in such a town, which made it perfect, for his purposes were not royal. The sun had set only an hour or so before, and yet, the nightlife had been steadily emerging from the dark corners which they spent their days in. The pubs were already crammed to the brim with men drinking away the worries of their day, wives nowhere to be seen, and on the streets lingered the unfavourable that could not show themselves in daylight. Dressed in striped cloaks, prostitutes lingered on corners in an effort to catch themselves a client, and Sigurd did his best to avoid the women that were a little too forward in their endeavours. He had been accosted many a time by two or three at once, and it was difficult to refuse a prostitute in front of others, especially when they were offering themselves for a mere two or three coppers.

Sigurd had different tastes, and he had long accepted thus. The only place he could possibly find someone to bed for the night that would not speak of him were in the darkest taverns, where men shot glances over jugs of ale and vanished together into the rooms above, emerging in the wee hours to return home without any further word of what they had done. Dressed in the clothes of commoners, Sigurd preferred to wait at a table for a larger man to come to him, as they often did, and they did not recognise him, for who would expect the son of a king to lie with men?

Strolling quietly through the alley to his favourite tavern, Sigurd found himself pondering how long he could possibly keep this up. His father, the king, had spoken to him many times of betrothal and a wife, but recently, the talk of it seemed to have cease. Perhaps he would focus on his brother? Surely Mikkel required a wife before him, if he was to be king. The thought made a faint smile curl his lips – his brother was far too brash and friendly to ever be as regal as their parents, but perhaps that was not a bad thing. Maybe Mikkel would be the one to change the kingdom for the better.

“Ser?” The soft voice of someone in a striped cloak caught his attention, and inspecting them briefly, raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?” He said shortly, and the prostitute pulled his hood back, giving the prince a fright. The face that he had expected to belong to a woman, in fact, was a boy. Boy was likely the wrong word, if he was old enough to engage in this sort of act, but his cheeks still held a softness that gave him a look that made it uncomfortable to call him a man. Was there a word for someone who hovered in between both words? Dismissing it, Sigurd tried to find his words.

“Would you care t’perhaps join me?” The prostitute’s voice remained soft, tentative even in the suggestion of what they could spend the night doing. Sigurd hesitated, and squaring his shoulders, arched an eyebrow down at the other.

“What is your price, then?” Sigurd found it difficult to remain casual; he had never encountered a male prostitute before, as the line of work would no doubt be slim in regards to female customers, and unless you knew where to look, willing men were difficult to find.

“Two coppers, ser.” The cloaked figure responded, and Sigurd paused. Such a cheap price? No doubt he could pay for that a hundred thousand times over if he had the full extent of his riches, but even with the small amount of coin he had in his purse, he was certain that he could pay to have this prostitute with him for a year.

“Very well.” He said eventually, glancing around to judge their company. The only other people on the street were another pair of women dressed in striped cloaks who regarded the pair with annoyance, but more specifically, their co-worker. No doubt they believed a client had been stolen from under their noses. Shaking his head lightly, he offered his new companion an arm with an arched eyebrow. “I believe there is a pub up ahead. Would you care for a drink before we bed?” The offer seemed to surprise the boy, and he hesitated, glancing around before returning his gaze to Sigurd and giving a small nod. It was etiquette that Sigurd would pay for such a thing – the cost in purchasing a prostitute was merely the service. If the customer wished for privacy, he would pay for the room, or they could go about their business on the street. That was unusual, and generally frowned upon if it was in a particularly busy location, but it happened. Sigurd couldn’t help smiling at a memory, but he pushed it away as he took the other by the arm. “What is your name?”

“Erikur, ser. My name is Erikur. Is there anything you prefer to be called?” It was a subtly different wording of his own question, but Sigurd knew why he had said such a thing. Names, for nobles, could be used against them if the prostitute decided to speak out.

“Halbard.” He responded shortly, beginning to walk down the avenue towards the ramshackle tavern that he frequented so often. Erikur nodded a little, seemingly testing the name out with a soft breath past his lips, but said nothing else. Sigurd preferred it that way, if he was frank – too often the conversation was even more artificial than the sex, and he did not pay for someone to speak to him. If he wanted that, he could merely visit his brother’s quarters and ask him about how his day had gone.

The two passed the threshold into the bustling tavern, lit by a number of lanterns strung up around the room. Most tables had only one or two at them, although there was a large table of around seven noble-looking men who were likely the drunkest there, if the fumbling at the mugs were anything to go by. That would not go down well with their fathers, Sigurd thought, then turned to walk to the quiet corner of the tavern, a small table with a lantern in the center free. He settled down on a stool, then glanced at Erikur, who had pulled his cloak tight around himself and was attempting to dodge the wandering hands of almost every drunkard he passed. Sigurd couldn’t bring himself to get up and intervene, as it would only cause a ruckus, and if he was found out, there would be a number of problems that would not be easily rectified.

“Do you drink anything in particular, Erikur?” He asked lightly, and Erikur, finally stumbling to the table ad climbing onto the stool, shook his head.

“Whatever you drink is alright with me, ser.” Even when offered a free drink, it seemed that this prostitute did not dare speak out of turn, which disappointed Sigurd a little. Castle life gave him unwavering obedience anyway – this was hardly an experience.

“Very well.” He waved over the waitress, a plump, wrinkly lady carrying a large flagon of what smelt like ale. “We’ll have two glasses of whatever you have there, thank you.” The waitress seemed to hesitate, but after eyeing the purse just visible in Sigurd’s pocket, produced two mugs from nowhere and filled them. The ale was hardly the honeyed wine he so often had at the castle, but Sigurd found it easiest to be drunk when he did things like this. A swig of ale washed down any nagging doubt about what he wished to do tonight, and he pushed the second mug over the wooden table towards Erikur. The boy eyed the alcohol and took the drink, sniffing it and taking a gulp. His face screwed up a little, and Sigurd laughed, surprised. Most prostitutes drank freely whenever they could, as alcohol was rather expensive, but it seemed like Erikur had more delicate tastes. On closer inspection, in the light of the tavern, he looked rather delicate overall, with soft features framed by feathery white hair and a skinny frame underneath his clothes. Sigurd was rather looking forward to tonight, he decided, and he drained his mug, unwilling to waste any further time on pleasantries. Erikur seemed to be taking his time with the mug of ale, and Sigurd allowed a small cough to escape him, which very quickly drew Erikur’s attention upwards. His eyes widened, and he jumped off the stool, looking rather flustered.

“I’m sorry, ser, I was just enjoyin’ the ale you got me. It’s very nice.” Lying through his teeth seemed to be a talent of Erikur’s, but Sigurd shrugged it off in favour of gesturing at the stairs.

“They know me here. I have a tab. Follow me, and do keep your head down.” With that, Sigurd slipped off his own stool and begun to weave across the crowded room. Reaching the stairs, he glanced behind him, noticing Erikur instead skirting the edge of the room, and when the prostitute finally arrived beside him, he gave the boy a small smile before starting up the stairs. He had a room here on every second Thursday, and as such, a small key that he carried around with him. Here, he was also known as Halbard, a commoner who lived outside the town who had happened across a sum of money as inheritance. Sigurd pulled out the key and unlocked the wooden door to the room, the last one in the hall, and pushing it open, indicating for Erikur to step in first. Erikur did so, and Sigurd trailed after him, closing it behind him and locking it. One could never be too careful. With that, he turned to Erikur. “You should take off that cloak, Erikur. You’d look better without it.” He said easily, which seemed to fluster Erikur. Nevertheless, the prostitute fumbled with the clasp of blue and white cloak and let it drop the floor Underneath, the boy was wearing naught but a light slip that brushed his thighs, and nothing else. It showed off most of his milky white skin, and Sigurd swallowed lightly. Erikur seemed reluctant to meet his eyes, so with a hum, he stepped forward and tilted Erikur’s head upwards. “You have a pretty face. I’d prefer to see it.” To Sigurd’s delight, Erikur’s face went pink, and he batted his eyes up at him.

“Yesser. Do you prefer a certain position, ser?” Sigurd shook his head, sinking down onto the bed and getting himself as comfortable as he could on the lumpy mattress.

“No. Now, undress for me.” There wasn’t much to take off, he supposed, but seeing the other undress would still be a treat. Erikur certainly took his time undressing, with his hands running sensually up and down his body. Slim fingers took hold on the bottom of the shift, and Erikur pulled it upwards to reveal a narrow chest and obvious ribs. He was dirty, and Sigurd pondered the concept of giving the boy a bath before this, but, oh, Erikur was already pulling down his underwear. Fumbling at the buttons of his own shirt, Sigurd shrugged the rough material from his shoulders and discarded it to the floor, followed by his trousers and underwear, then stood, admiring Erikur’s body compared to his own. Of course, he was more muscular, fitter, and his skin was much smoother, but Erikur’s held an almost angelic charm, with the soft colour of his skin and the cautious way he held himself. Moving forward, he placed a hand gently on Erikur’s hip, looking down at him. This was different than his usual romps, drunk and mindless. Erikur seemed almost nervous. Brushing his thumb over Erikur’s lips, Sigurd leant down and gently pressed a kiss to them, letting his eyes close. It was soft, much more delicate than any other kiss he’d had in a long time, and a sigh escaped him. It was supposed to get Erikur a little more in the mood, but all it seemed to be doing was stirring himself up; he could feel his growing erection pressed against the other’s soft thigh, and his next sigh turned into a low moan.

“Halbard…” Erikur broke the kiss, and he felt Erikur’s hand creep up against the curve of his hip, then down to grasp his cock. Erikur’s hand was just as soft as his thigh, and Sigurd bit back another sound, his eyes clothing. Nervous he may seem, but the prostitute certainly had skilled hands, and he couldn’t help the light thrust into his palms, shivering. Sigurd, a little lightheaded with drink, couldn’t help what slipped past his lips next.

“Call me Sigurd.” He whispered against the shell of Erikur’s ear, and the prostitute paused, glancing up at him, although his hand continued moving in the swift little jerks that was quickly building up a heat in Sigurd’s belly.

“Yes, Sigurd.” A glance downwards seemed to indicate that perhaps Erikur was not enjoying this as much as he was, and so he pushed his thigh forward to sit against the warm touch of Erikur’s cock. The prostitute, almost in his lap, seemed to gasp, and much to Sigurd’s delight, he felt the slow swell of hardness against his leg. With every movement of Erikur’s fingers, he pushed his thigh upwards against his cock, eliciting more delightful moans from the boy. Oh, his sounds were more arousing than the hand around his cock, almost, and he could feel dampness against his thigh from the beads of precum at the tip of Erikur’s cock. He was more than satisfied with the idea that the other would come first with his thigh alone, but then Erikur did something with his thumb that pressed into the slit at the head of his cock and stars exploded behind his eyes and Sigurd closed his eyes and let his orgasm consume him, just for a moment.

When he opened his eyes again, Erikur was still perched on his thigh, looking at him with a sly little smile. His cock was still hard, but his hand was outstretched, and Sigurd suddenly realised Erikur was waiting for his pay. The prostitute hadn’t even come, and he wanted his two coppers? How completely and utterly ridiculous. Mirth bubbled up inside his chest, and with a laugh and shake of his head, Sigurd shifted to push Erikur onto the bed, looking down at the very startled boy.

“I will pay you in due time, Erikur, but you have not even received any pleasure of your own. How could I possibly let you down like that?” Sigurd shifted down the bed to nuzzle at the concave shape of Erikur’s belly, taking great delight in listening to Erikur squeak in surprise. It seemed that the prostitute was unused to having his needs catered for, and Sigurd let his nose brush down the fine trail of hair, right down to Erikur’s cock. Erikur mewled under the light brush of Sigurd’s lips against the head of his cock, and Sigurd hummed in delight as he felt the other arch up to meet him. Letting his tongue slip past his lips, Sigurd flicked it down Erikur’s shaft, his hand skimming up his leg to grasp his hip and keep him in place. “You make wonderful sounds.” He sighed out. He wouldn’t mind properly having this boy, seeing him squirm and gasp, but it was impractical, especially when he had let the oil he usually utilised back in in his room.

“Ah, uhm, thank you, Sigurd – mnm!” Erikur moaned so nicely, especially compared to any other prostitutes he’d had, and the prince had to focus on not getting hard again, especially as the other started to push upwards. Obliging in what he knew Erikur wanted, he wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock, letting Erikur begin to thrust into his mouth. He made sure it was slow, not wanting to choke, but it was only a few moments before he’d adjusted enough that Erikur could freely rut upwards against his tongue. He could already taste the salt of his sweet, and the bitterness of his precum, and with one last suck, the prostitute came with a long, squeaky whine. The sudden rush of fluid in his mouth was easy enough to choke down, and sitting up, satisfied, Sigurd looked over the blushing prostitute as he wiped his lips.

“Now, that was worth two coppers.” He said softly, and Erikur blinked a little before giving a small, shy nod. Oh, that slight shyness was rather wonderful. Sigurd could not help but wish that perhaps Erikur could come back with him to the castle, and he could lay with him whenever he wished. There was something endearing about him, if only in the manner in which he gave handjobs. Perhaps his tongue would be even better.

The thought settled in his mind as he shifted on the mattress, and pulling out his coin purse, he paused.

“How much do you get usually from this line of work, Erikur?”

“Two coppers per customer, ser. Usually I get three customers a week, and four coppers go to the rent, and the other two are good for buyin’ an old bread loaf.” Six coppers? That was barely a silver, and if five silver coins were a gold coin, he had enough money to buy Erikur for the rest of his life, or around five weeks of service.

“… what if I was to offer you a payment for you to, ah, become my personal consort?” The words made Erikur pause, and the boy shifted on the bed, his thumb raising to slip past his lips. It gave him a rather cute look.

“By consort, you do mean, ah, personal whore?” Sigurd shrugged absently at the wording as he settled on the bed, stretching and cracking his back.

“I suppose so. I will pay you a gold coin a day, and you will have food and board in the castle, possibly in my own room.” That startled Erikur, and blinking owlishly at him, it appeared as if the boy was trying to find his words.

“The – the castle? Are you certain? Do you work – oh, gods above. Y’… Yer Prince Sigurd! Oh, your royal highness, I should not have let you – it was tremendously inappropriate of me to allow y’to do that!” The prostitute’s voice was a noticeable octave higher as Erikur stumbled through the words, but Sigurd waved his hand as he settled in bed and pressed a gold coin in between the other’s legs.

“Nevermind that. Here, your first payment, and do be ready to get up at dawn. We will leave for the castle tomorrow morning.” Pulling the blankets back, Sigurd settled on the mattress, patting the space next to him. Erikur sleeping with him would keep the chill away in the cold tavern. “Blow out the lantern before you get into bed.” He watched Erikur pull himself together and stand, moving to the table to do what he asked. The light went out with a hiss, and Sigurd let himself lie down, the flat, itchy pillow rubbing at his cheek, although he wasn’t overly concerned about the matter of that. He was more anticipating what he would do tomorrow when they arrived home, when he could spend some proper time with, ah – “Erikur.”

“Yes, your royal highness?” His tone was soft, shaky, and Sigurd reached blindly out in the darkness to reassuringly touch Erikur’s shoulder.

“Goodnight.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Erikur could scarcely believe how today had gone.

It was Saturday – the busiest day of his week. Men went out drinking, and that meant they were a little more willing to lie with a man, especially if the cost was two coppers for him to suck them off in an alley. Of course, after a customer, he had to make his way across town to another bar – if a gay male prostitute was tracked, he would be lashed, and Erikur had no desire to feel the stripes on his back. Nevertheless, he had to pay the pimp of the brothel he lived in, and women finding him attractive was near-impossible, so men were the only option.

He’d spent the evening lurking outside a pub well-known in the darker side of town for the men that frequented it, and Erikur had kept himself in the shadows, eyes fixed on the men slowly moving inside. Most moved in groups of two or three, and there was always the odd man who walked in alone, usually already slightly drunk. Those were the ones that he would approach, easily pliable to soft words and little flutters of his eyelashes, and he would get a drink and maybe a meal before they would retreat to a room. He didn’t particularly enjoy most of the sex – it hurt, unless they had brought oil, but it paid the bills, and that was all he could ask, he supposed.

Nevertheless, the light of the lanterns hoisted up outside of the pub had caught the glint of a ring, and Erikur almost instantly let his gaze shift to the man heading towards the tavern. He was simply dressed, but the arch of his cheekbones and posture seemed to suggest someone of high birth, and with his neatly trimmed hair held back by a gold hairpin, Erikur could almost imagine simply plucking it off him when he grabbed at his hair. That would buy him candy and a new shirt and pay the pimp, and with almost no hesitation, he had breezed forward, eyes lowered to the cobbled streets.

The drinks had been fine. So had him sucking off the other – Halbard wasn’t particularly impressive in his length or girth, so keeping him in his mouth had been easy. The man going to the effort of bringing him to orgasm had been nice, but that was when his night had changed.

Halbard was not Halbard. Halbard was Prince Sigurd, second in line to the throne of Baer, and he had offered him a job in the interiors of the castle, presumably to do nothing beyond having sex with him once or twice a day. He would be paid a gold coin a day for his service, more money than he could have dreamed of possessing, and then Sigurd had clambered into bed. He had blown out the lantern and followed suit, climbing into the soft bed and trying to stay as far as possible from the prince as he proceeded to run over every possible reason as to why Sigurd had offered him this.

A prince with this sort of inclination would no doubt be kept quiet. He knew better than anyone that a man who bedded other men was considered a criminal at best, and a heathen against God at worst. He’d long accepted that, despite himself only engaging in the act for money, but Sigurd would be different. There was another possibility, too; that this was all an elaborate trap to catch people like himself and have them hung. He’d heard of men luring prostitutes away and handing them over to soldiers, who ‘punished’ them before a public lashing and hanging. The thought made him feel sick.

“Goodnight.” Sigurd’s light touch to his shoulder made him flinch, and he rolled in bed, eyes fixed on the shape in the gloom of the prince. The gold coin was cold in his hand, and he clenched his fist a little tighter, closing his eyes. Sigurd had sex with him. This couldn’t be trap, could it? He had put his head between his legs and sucked off a common whore like they were equals. Surely a man who had ill intentions wouldn’t dream of committing such an act!

“… goodnight, your highness.” He remembered to respond almost five minutes later, but the only response was the soft, even breathing of the man next to him. Curious, he reached his own hand out to brush his hand over the clip in Sigurd’s hair. He didn’t move – the prince seemed to be asleep. He briefly considered taking it, but as he wrapped his fingers around the clip, Sigurd shifted in bed and slung his arm across his waist. Frozen, he withdrew his hand from the prince’s hair and awkwardly shuffled up in the bed. Sigurd was positioned so it would be easiest for him to sleep with Sigurd’s face in his neck, so Erikur laid his head back down on the pillow, staring across the room at the striped cloak that he could just make out on the floor. This was no place for a prostitute, in the bed of a prince, even if the bed was hired out in a tavern.

Erikur did not manage to sleep well that night. He fell into a fitful doze every hour or so, but would be awoken by the smallest movement of the prince, who seemed to seek out body heat like a cat in the sun. Needless to say, Erikur could feel a headache throbbing behind his eyes, and his hands had been clenched so tightly that he was finding it difficult to unfurl his fingers.

The caw of a rooster brought Sigurd out of his doze, and as the man shifted, Erikur hurriedly wiggled back and sat up, feeling rather vulnerable in his nakedness.

“Good morning, your royal highness.” He greeted, and Sigurd grunted, raising a hand and rubbing his eyes. In the morning sun, he looked more like a prince – there was something about the way he moved that seemed to say that he was superior. Royal.

“Don’t call me that when we’re alone. Sigurd is just fine.” His voice was hoarser than it had been yesterday, Erikur noted, not entirely sure how to respond to the fact he apparently had the honour of addressing Sigurd by his first name. “… we should get going. Go ‘n’ – and put y’- your shift on, but leave the cloak off.” An order was something Erikur could follow, so he heaved himself out of the soft bed and moved to where his underwear and shift had been discarded the night before. There was a hiss, and Erikur glanced over his shoulder as he pulled on his underwear to see Sigurd lighting a lantern to chase away the morning gloom.

“What am I t’wear over this?” He questioned, and Sigurd paused, seemingly to think over the question, although it was difficult to tell. Sigurd’s face did not betray much.

“You can wear my cloak. It’ll keep you warm.” The prince slipped out of bed and picked up his own shirt, and Erikur watched Sigurd started to lace up his shirt. He seemed to fumble when the cord reached the collar, and Erikur stepped forward, quickly tying it. Glancing up as he finished the knot, he met Sigurd’s eyes. It felt like the prince was trying to tear him apart with his eyes, to figure out exactly what he was thinking, and he could feel his heart beginning to thud a little faster in his chest.

“… thank you, y’royal – ah, Sigurd.” He managed, then stepped back, picking up the heavy wool coat and wrapping it around himself. It was warm, so warm, and Erikur pressed his nose briefly into the fur collar and closed his eyes. It smelt like smog.

“Alright. We can leave.” Sigurd’s voice pulled his attention from the lining of his borrowed clothing, and giving a quick nod, he stepped aside for the prince. Sigurd breezed past him, leaving the prostitute cloak on the floor in favour of unlocking the door. Erikur was tempted to pick it up, but it seemed like Sigurd expected him to leave it, so he followed the prince out of the door, squinting. The dark made it difficult to traverse down the wooden steps, but Sigurd seemed to know the layout by heart, so he simply tried to keep pace with him. Sigurd dropped the keys on the bench, and Erikur took another two steps forward and tried the tavern door handle. It opened, and blinking in surprise, Erikur heaved the heavy wood door forward. It creaked as it swung open, but a glance at Sigurd seemed to say there was nothing to worry about in that regard. “My brother will be by shortly.”

Erikur had to take a moment, and as the words sank in, he felt his eyes widen.

“Y’mean the crown prince? Mathias?” Sigurd glanced down at him, and Erikur was unable to help himself averting his gaze away from Sigurd, those steel-blue eyes only making him more nervous.

“He is my only brother.” The way Sigurd responded rather suggested that he was laughing at him, and Erikur frowned, crossing his arms under the cloak and looking down.

“I don’t know the royal family by heart.” He muttered, then hesitated, dipping his head. “Your royal highness.” Although he couldn’t see Sigurd, he could sense irritation, which made his throat close up. He couldn’t lose this. He could stay at the castle for a day – two gold coins was still a lot of money, in his mind. There wasn’t another word exchanged between the two of them as Erikur squinted into the early morning gloom. They stayed on the roadside, and as Erikur watched the first rays of sun peek over the buildings, the soft clop of hooves finally broke the silence.

“Sigurd!” Erikur jumped, and Sigurd growled something inaudible as he stepped out onto the road. A black stallion trotted into sight, and on his back perched the unmistakable face of the crown prince. He was famed for his grin, and Erikur could see why – overall, Mathias was a very striking man. Erikur was careful to bow as Mathias’ gaze moved to him. “… who’s this, Sig?”

“My new consort.” Sigurd’s tone was clipped, and when Erikur looked up, Sigurd wasn’t looking at him. Mathias, however, was looking at him like he was a particularly fine piece of clothing.

“Pleased t’meet y’, y’royal highness.” He managed, and an even wider grin split Mathias’ face as he leant forward over the shoulder of his horse.

“… you too. Ah, Sigurd, do you really think this is a good idea? You know how Ma is.”

Had they planned this? That was impossible, Erikur decided. He had approached Sigurd on a whim. Whatever this plan was, it likely didn’t revolve around him.

“Yes. Get him on the horse. I’ll return home on foot.” Sigurd waved a hand, and Erikur’s breath caught in his throat as Mathias slipped off the saddle. He was tall, ridiculously so. Erikur was eyelevel with his chest, and glancing upwards, he went red. The crown prince was still grinning like a fool down at him, and unsure of what he was supposed to do, Erikur just ended up bowing again, almost bumping his head on Mathias.

“Ah, I… I haven’t ever ridden a horse, your royal highness.” He confessed, and Mathias laughed lightly, ruffling his hair. The gesture was quite unexpected, and Erikur felt his heart leap into his throat as he took a step back.

“That’s quite alright, ah…” His gaze flickered to Sigurd, and the second prince shrugged a little.

“His name’s Erikur.” Mathias nodded a little, and without any further questions, took a step forward and hooked Erikur over his shoulder. Suddenly finding himself midair was quite a shock, and kicking, Erikur tried to get his bearings.

“Your royal highness, please, put me down – oh, gods-“ He could feel himself slipping, but before he fell, Mathias had adjusted him and placed him securely on the saddle. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms tightly around the stallion’s neck, trying to not think about the potentially dangerous beast under him. For all he knew, it was about to make a dash for it and take him to his death. He’d heard of people thrown from horses and breaking their necks, spending days dying, or a crippled beggar on the side of his road for the rest of his life, and Erikur didn’t intend to join them. Mathias swung up behind him, and his arms went around him to hold the reins. The stallion under them wickered, and Erikur swallowed, closing his eyes.

“Hold on, alright? Sig, please hurry back.” He could feel Mathias give his mount a light nudge with his ankles, and the stallion started off at a trot down the cobbled street. Erikur didn’t dare look, not with his hands already slipping from the animal’s neck, so he simply started praying. He hadn’t prayed in months, years, but it felt like this could be his fate. What if Mathias was simply riding him off somewhere to kill him? He had seen the sword hanging on his waist. Behind his eyelids, hot tears were stinging at his eyes, but he did not dare let them fall, his breath coming in short gasps.

Eventually, the horse came to a halt, and Erikur slowly uncurled his hands, the imprints of his fingernails in his palms stinging. As he felt Mathias move off the horse, he let his eyes open. He was immediately met with the high brick wall of the castle – white brick, and there was a heavy stone door in front of him. This wasn’t the main entrance to the castle, that was wrought iron, so he assumed Mathias had brought him around the wall. Was this the servant entrance? That would make sense, Erikur tried to assure himself. A male consort with a prince would not look good for the kingdom. The sun had finally risen entirely over the horizon, and he could hear the bustle of people inside the door.

“We’re goin’ to head inside, alright? I’ll put you in Sigurd’s room, and bring you some breakfast. Have you eaten?” Erikur couldn’t find his tongue, so simply gave a soundless nod, swinging his leg over the horse and slowly sliding down the side of the animal. His feet touching the ground was a quiet, solid relief, and Erikur let himself take a long breath as Mathias moved to the door and knocked twice. There was nothing for a number of seconds, but Mathias didn’t seem concerned. Finally, there was a creak, and the door was pushed open, revealing the kitchen. It smelt like porridge and cinnamon, and bacon, and Erikur swallowed as Mathias stepped inside and waved lazily at the servants. “Mornin’, all. This is a new servant. We’re gonna take him upstairs for a while, and y’might see him around.” The maids took a quick glance at him, but returned to their jobs fairly quickly, chatting among themselves. Erikur slowly trekked after Mathias, the duo weaving through the hot kitchen and to another door. This one was locked, and Mathias rifled through his pockets to pull out a ring of keys. He found the smallest key on the ring and unlocked the door, then twisted the handle. It creaked, and Mathias winced, turning to grab a maid’s shoulder.

“You, can y’oil this?” He ordered, and when she nodded, Mathias started up the stone steps. Erikur followed quickly, not willing to stay in the unfamiliar surroundings any longer than he had to, especially if the servants were going to ask him questions about why he was there. Cooks seemed to do that, and he wasn’t particularly inclined to say he was here to have sex with the prince. Even if he was going to be paid more than any of these servants, male prostitutes were frowned upon, especially if his job was to pleasure the prince in the place of any willing woman.

The winding stone corridor was lit by a number of torches, and it smelt like dried herbs. When he glanced upwards, he realised why – there were bundles of drying plants. Lavender, he could see lavender, but he couldn’t identify anything else.

“Hurry up, Erikur!” Mathias’ voice interrupted his curiousity, and he scuttled up the last few steps with a gulp.

“Yes, your royal highness.” The other was already unlocking yet another door, and this one slid open soundlessly, the hinges oiled. The corridor opened into a bathroom – there was a toilet, one of the nice ones that no doubt could be emptied, and a marble bath, and a mirror, along with a number of perfumes. Erikur didn’t have time to marvel, however, as Mathias moved swiftly from the bathroom to yet another door. This one was not locked, and Erikur followed Mathias into the bedroom he presumed was Sigurd’s. It was vast, with a large, four poster bed in the corner, a desk, a wardrobe and a mirror. Books stacked the shelves, and crystals were scattered over every flat surface, most looking like they had been recently polished.

“This is Sigurd’s room. You’ll be stayin’ in here most of the time, I suppose. I’ll bring you some breakfast soon, alright? Just sit on the bed. Don’t leave this room or y’might find yourself in a spot of trouble. Y’look a bit scruffy for here.” A critical gaze from Mathias made Erikur flush again, much to his frustration, and he gave a small nod. Apparently satisfied, Mathias turned on his heel and headed back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Erikur’s shoulders slumped with relief the moment Mathias left, and finally, blissfully alone, he sank onto the ground, the plush rug under his fingertips wonderfully soft. He couldn’t resist lying down, hiss head practically sinking into the fur, and moving his gaze up to the ceiling, he took a long, deep breath.

He was in the castle. He was in the bedroom of the second prince of Baer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this! I would absolutely adore some feedback on this. Thank you to all of you who have already left kudos and comments!


	3. Chapter 3

Sigurd watched his brother gallop off on the stallion, Erikur hunched over the neck of the animal as Mikkel controlled it. He couldn’t help a faint smile; it was amusing, to think one could be scared of a horse. They were so efficient to get around on. It was a little disappointing that he had not brought his own mare to return home on, but a walk would no doubt do him good. Adjusting his shirt, he glanced up at the sky. He could see the pink glow of the sun touching the hills as the sun rose – if he walked, he could be home in half an hour. He wasn’t in any hurry. All the servants knew he spent the early morning walking, so no doubt they would assume that was what he had been doing.

The prince kept his pace slow as he wandered along the path that cut through the forest in front of the castle. The city gave way to a forest for a mile or so, and then the walls of the castle would hold back the trees and animals that lived there. It was his favourite part of the walk. The trees made him feel secure, and quite often he would see a deer grazing at the grass on the edge of the forest.  It seemed to be too early for any animal other than the birds to be out, however, and his only company as he made his way along the path was their song. The gates of the castle were visible as the sun rose higher, the iron gleaming in the sunlight, and the guards were stationed at either side of it. Deciding he wasn’t particularly inclined to go and see his father, which would no doubt be the result if he tried to go through the main entrance, he made a turn to the left, stepping into the underbrush and trees. It was easy enough to duck around the side of the castle alone, concealed by the early-morning shadows, and it only took a few minutes more to make his way through the plant life and arrive at the servant entrance. The door was heavy, ancient, and Sigurd took a step forward and tapped it twice. There was no response for a number of seconds, but then the door slowly creaked open, straining on its ancient hinges. A servant girl blinked at the sight of the young prince, then hastily bowed, low enough that Sigurd could see the threads lacing up the back of her dress.

Without acknowledging the girl any further, Sigurd brushed past her in favour of going through the already-open door off to the side. Erikur and Mikkel got home undisturbed, then, he noted with satisfaction, and closing the door behind him, began up the stairs. He was careful to duck down a little – the herb bundles he strung from the ceiling were delicate, and he hated it when they crumbled before he had a chance to use them.

The final few steps were taken with an easy stride, and pushing open the door to his bedroom, his breath caught in his throat. Erikur was sprawled over the bed, curled in the furs wearing nothing but Sigurd’s cloak, the shift and his underwear. He looked remarkably gorgeous, his white skin bright against the bed, and with two whisper-soft steps, he moved to stand beside the bed and run his fingers along the curve of Erikur’s back. The prostitute yelped, and rolling, his hand smacked Sigurd lightly on his shoulder. The prince paused at that, then smiled down at Erikur, who looked like he’d just been sentenced to death.

“Your royal highness, ‘m sorry, you just gave me a fright-“

“No it’s fine. Call me Sigurd.”  He assured gently, and Erikur gave a tiny nod as he sat up on the bed and adjusted the coat. He seemed slightly lost as to what to do, and Sigurd glanced outside the window. It would still be a while until breakfast, and with the memory of last night in the back of his mind, Sigurd couldn’t resist shrugging off his coat and placing it on the chair before settling down and starting to unlace his boots. “Take off the coat, won’t y’?” He didn’t look up from undoing his shoes, and once he had gently pried them off, he glanced behind him. Erikur was sitting on his legs, dressed only in the fine, dirty shift and underwear. Wrinkling his nose a little, he remembered that he had wanted to wash the prostitute, and he discarded the idea of getting a blowjob at that point. “We’re goin’ to give you a bath.”

“W-what?” Erikur stuttered, and Sigurd chuckled. Erikur really was rather endearing, with his little mannerisms, and the prince had a feeling he was going to enjoy his company.

“I’m going to bathe you.” A brief pause, and Sigurd corrected himself. “Well, a cloth bath. I will arrange to have someone draw you a proper bath sometime soon, but I do not have time f’that before breakfast, and I dislike the idea of you sitting around in that state.” A flash of something unidentifiable went across Erikur’s face, but Sigurd dismissed it in favour of standing and making a gesture at the floor. “Put your clothes there. I will be back in a moment.” With that, he turned and started down the stairs again, back towards the kitchen. It was the place to get hot water when he was in a hurry, and there was always some ready. No doubt he would have to get back into the habit of having a pot in the fireplace all the time, if he was to spend so much time with Erikur. The idea sent a pleasant chill down his spine as he took the stone stairs two at time. The door at the bottom of the stairs had been closed, and he pushed it open again, poking his head into the kitchen. The chatter went quiet as the presence of the prince was noticed, and there was a wave of quick bows and curtseys.

“What would you like, your royal highness?”

“A pot of hot water and a pair of soft cloths.” He ordered, and the servants scattered to fetch what he had asked for. It was only a minute or so before a pot, with the lid on and with a padded handle, as well as a pair of new-looking cloths on top. Carefully adjusting the pot as it was handed to him, he dipped his head at the staff before heading back up the stairs. He had to take it a lot slower this time, unwilling to drop the water. He thanked the gods that Erikur hadn’t got up and closed the door on him, and stepping through the threshold, let his gaze flick to Erikur. The prostitute was naked on his bed, and he tried to push down thought of just bending him over. “Alright.” He mumbled, almost to himself, and carefully putting the pot down on the table, dipped the cloth into it. It took a fair amount of restraint to not allow himself to glance over his shoulder and devour Erikur’s form with his eyes, and after he had wrung out the cloth, he turned. Erikur looked surprisingly relaxed for someone naked on the prince’s bed, but the moment he met his gaze, he tensed up again. Sigurd stepped forward and brushed the cloth over his cheek, and Erikur flinched away. “Dun’ move.” He said flatly, and Erikur swallowed and nodded, closing his eyes as Sigurd put the cloth back on Erikur’s face and began gently washing the grime off his face. He had relatively clear skin, but there were a couple of blotches that probably came from constantly being covered in dust and, well, the typical things prostitutes often ended up being covered in.

The cloth traced down Erikur’ chin, across the curve of his neck, and across his collarbone. The smaller shivered, and Sigurd chuckled.

“Y’look lovely.” He murmured. “Especially with a clean face.” Erikur’s face flushed, but he took a quick breath and pecked Sigud’s nose. It sent shivers through the prince, and he let the cloth dip a little lower, brushing over Erikur’s chest and the bumpy curve of his ribcage. The skin there was soft and white, even with the small scars and bruises there. He was like a small dove, one that he had captured from a flock of sparrows, and Sigurd let his eyes drift downwards, between Erikur’s legs. Well, the dust was nothing, really – it came off with ease, and he still had a few minutes. He slipped his hand down, between Erikur’s legs, his hand still gripping the cloth. It was soft, and provided a small barrier. “We should clean here, too.” He murmured. The soft noises Erikur made with every movement of his hand were perfect, and he could feel the material of his underwear already pressing firm against his erection.

“Yer royal highness-”

“Sigurd.” He responded firmly, and Erikur squeaked a little as Sigurd’s hand tightened further. When Sigurd glanced downwards, the tip of Erikur’s cock was already leaking precum. “… hm.” He let go, and Erikur shuddered, eyes flicking up to meet Sigurd’s. They were pretty, like jewellery, and his cheeks, flushed with arousal, made an even prettier picture. “I need y’to serve me.” He said flatly, and unlacing his trousers, pushed them down. His underwear graced the pile, and stepping back, he indicated for Erikur to move forward. Erikur seemed to thrive under the instructions, and he clambered from the bed to kneel in front of Sigurd. He could feel his warm breath against his thighs, and with a soft grunt, he closed his eyes, allowing Erikur to lean forward and flick his tongue against the head of his cock.

_Oh, gods._

Sigurd let a moan slip past his lips, and he tilted his head forward, his fingers curling in Erikur’s hair. His lips were so soft. Every touch was electric, and opening an eye, he drank in the sight of Erikur in front of him, naked and with his hands wrapped around his thighs.

“Erikur.” He sighed out, and Erikur glanced up to look at him, his pretty mouth wrapped around his cock just enough that he could thrust, but not push his head back. Sigurd brushed his hand forward and tugged lightly on Erikur’s hair, and much to Sigurd’s delight, Erikur moaned. Another tug, and Erikur squirmed in place, his thighs pressed together. The subtle movement was erotic, and Sigurd was forced to close his eyes again, panting. Heat was already growing in his belly, and he had no desire to stave off his orgasm, not with the way Erikur was grunting and whimpering. He didn’t care in the slightest if he only lasted a few seconds now; endurance could be seen later. Right now, he just wanted to come, and with Erikur’s skilful tongue and little sounds, precum was already dripping from his slit. There was a tell-tale shudder as Erikur pushed his head forward a little, and all too quickly, he pushed the other’s head back and stroked himself once, twice, and then he came and thick white strings were on Erikur’s flushed cheeks and over his slightly parted lips. The sight was enough to make Sigurd’s orgasm a little better, and panting hard, he had to use Erikur’s shoulder to keep himself upright.

“Ah, uh, that was… that was good.” He managed, and Erikur groaned, his hips moving forward just a little at the praise. Sigurd was just about to pick him up and throw him onto the bed when there was a knock on the door. He paused, then picked up his boxers and slipped them on. “Yes?”

“It’s time for breakfast, Sigurd. C’mon. Leave him in there.” Mikkel, impatient as ever, knocked again, and Sigurd relaxed. His brother already knew about this. It’d be fine.

“I just need t’put on some clothes. Give me a moment.”  There was a snort outside, and Mikkel slapped the flat of his hand on the door.

“You’ve had him for half a day and you’re already attempting to avoid breakfast?” Sigurd felt a surge of frustration, and he lightly kicked the door.

“I’m not, Mikkel. Let me get dressed and I will meet you in the hall shortly!” Mikkel laughed, and Sigurd walked to the closet, rolling his eyes at his brother’s antics. He ran his fingers through the silken tunics, settling on an eggshell blue number and slipping it on. It was matched with a pair of black trousers, and finally, a matching patterned blue cloak. Buckling the belt, he glanced back at Erikur, who was staring at him with yet another one of his unreadable expressions.

“I’ll be back shortly.” Erikur nodded, and a little uncomfortable, Sigurd opened the door and left the room, closing the door and locking it behind him. Mikkel placed his hand lightly on his shoulder and Sigurd jumped, spinning to glare at the taller.

“Y’have no patience, did y’know that?” He grumped, and Mikkel chuckled lightly, nodding.

“I do.” He agreed, beginning down the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short; I was just eager to upload the new content for you all. I'm trying to have a chapter a week done, so you can look forward to that?

Erikur was still trying to catch his breath, lips parted as he sucked in a gasp of the scented palace air. Arousal was thrumming through his thighs, and the idea that Sigurd might actually take the time to give him an orgasm of his own sent a thrill through him.

“It’s time for breakfast, Sigurd. C’mon, leave him in there.” Mikkel’s voice echoed clearly through the door, and disbelieving, he glanced up at the prince, who was already pulling on his clothing with little heed as to Erikur’s condition. He could feel his erection between his legs, but he didn’t speak, watching Sigurd get dressed in a fashion that certainly didn’t seem hurried. Making sure to keep his expression neutral, he brushed his hands down his face to clean the cum off, not bothering to voice anything as the prince gave him a half-hearted farewell. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to get out of this arrangement, and when Sigurd closed the door, he slumped down against the bed and groaned, looking up at the ceiling. Pleasuring himself wasn’t really something he felt like doing often, even like a state like this. He wasn’t sure how long he lay on the feather mattress for, his thoughts becoming vague and cloudy as they often did when he was left alone. Colours blurred into one, and eventually, he slipped into a doze, the gnawing hunger in his belly easily ignored in favour of sleep.

“Erikur. Erikur, wake up.” An unfamiliar voice roused him, and with a sudden rush of fear, he spun, flinging his arm out. His breath left him as he felt himself tumble off the bed, and landing hard on the carpet, he squinted upwards. The prince was staring at him like he was insane, and he was awake enough to have the decency to blush.

“Sorry, your royal majesty. I wasn’t, I didn’t mean t’fall asleep.” Sigurd’s face shifted into a frown, and he offered him a hand.

“Sigurd when we’re together.” The prince said flatly, and still struggling with the concept, Erikur couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than a mute nod. Sigurd, however, seemed satisfied, and he rolled his shoulders back with a crack. “So, Erikur, we’re going to go into the markets tomorrow. We need to get you some clothes.”

“Oh, ah, there’s no need.” Erikur didn’t want Sigurd’s pointless charity. He could wear a sheet and receive more gold instead. “I’m good with a needle, your – Sigurd. If you give me some old bedsheets or fabric, I can make an acceptable outfit.” Somehow, he felt as though he may be spending some time in Sigurd’s room, and if that was the case, there was no point in pretending that he needed to be well dressed.

“I want you to be appropriately dressed so I can take you around with me.” A dismissive wave of Sigurd’s hand quickly shut that concept down, and worrying his lip with his teeth, Erikur sank onto the bed again, using a blanket to cover his thighs.

“I – alright. What are we doing today?” Sigurd suddenly looked a little sheepish, although it showed in only the slightest move in his gaze and quirk of his lip.

“Well, I have a few royal duties to attend to. Namely, responding to letters, but, ah… you can help me with that. I will clear off the desk; in that chest, over there,” He paused to gesture at the heavy wooden chest Erikur had noted earlier, “there should be a few quills and ink, and parchment. Fetch them.” Erikur quashed any irritation at being treated like a maid, a naked maid at that, and standing, wrapped the throw more firmly around his waist before making his way over to where the ink and quills were kept. The crystals had to be quickly removed, and hefting the lid open, he quickly piled the parchment into his arms. Sigurd hadn’t said how much he wanted, so he took all of it, adding two quills on top and two bottles of ink. It was heavier than he thought, and wrinkling his nose, he wobbled back over to Sigurd, acutely aware of the blanket hanging on his hips and slowly sliding downwards. He carefully dropped it onto the desk, and fixing up his makeshift cover, glanced to Sigurd.

“I’ll just close the chest.” He offered, and the prince nodded vaguely as Erikur made his way back over to close the lid and place the gems back where they were previously. He winced a little at the _clunk_ sound, but a quick inspection of the rocks seemed to come off clean, and brushing his hands off, he made his way back over to Sigurd and stood next to him. Sigurd had spread out what he presumed was a letter, although the seal on the top was from the neighbouring kingdom, stained in a bright yellow. He didn’t focus too hard on the writing, instead slinging his arms around Sigurd’s shoulders and letting his lips brush up his neck. “… y’seem to work hard.” Erikur let his voice stay low, sultry, and the shiver that promptly went up Sigurd seemed to indicate that it had worked well. He let his hand wander, fiddling with the silk shirt Sigurd was wearing, and he felt the man tense beneath him. A soft laugh, and Erikur swung himself around to sit on Sigurd’s lap, tracing his hand back up Sigurd’s cheek. He could see a faint flush there, and with a little smile, he rolled his hips down, and almost immediately, he could feel the swell of Sigurd’s erection beneath the fabric of his trousers. “It’s still early. We can get this done, and whatever you need t’do.” He cooed, and the prince blinked at him. He was obviously a little taken aback with how forward he was being, but Erikur knew how to do this. He was hardly going to be hesitant about what he did as a job.

“Ah… of course.” Sigurd’s hands slowly ran down his sides, and Erikur rolled his hips again, this time able to feel the press of the prince’s cock against his trousers. It was nice, knowing he could turn a member of royalty on so easily; it certainly helped with his confidence, secure in Sigurd’s bedroom. A glance upward confirmed Sigurd was looking at him, and unable to help his smile, he shuffled back a little, placing the flat of his palm on Sigurd’s erection. “Y’think that perhaps-” He began, but Sigurd held up a hand, his flustered expression fading into a slightly disappointed one. Erikur’s throat momentarily closed up, but Sigurd’s next words dispelled his fear.

“I dun’ have any oils. I suppose I will have to pick those up tomorrow, too, then we can do this properly.” Erikur managed a nod, trying to relax, and he backed off Sigurd’s lap to kneel carefully under the desk.

“Y’better get back to work, then.” Being eye-level with the prince’s crotch was somewhat bemusing, but he didn’t let even the hint of a smile touch his face as he leant forward to brush his nose against the bulge that was Sigurd’s erection. There was a harsh intake of breath from the prince, and Erikur let his tongue press against the fabric, the way Sigurd squirmed in response seeming to suggest this was working. A hand snaked down to sit in his hair, and Erikur pushed it away. “Don’t you have letters t’write, your highness?”

“Oh. Well, yes.” Sigurd’s voice was low, hesitant, but his hand withdrew, and satisfied, Erikur bowed his head again to fiddle with the lacings of his trousers. It was easy to undo, much to his relief, and he manoeuvred Sigurd’s underwear to the side of his cock to reveal it to the cold air. There was a strangled sound from the other, and Erikur promptly flicked his tongue up the vein he could see, Sigurd’s legs almost immediately clamping around either side of him as the rustle of parchment stopped.

“You writing, Sigurd?” He murmured, and the sound of an ink bottle being uncorked broke the silence almost a second later. Erikur liked to imagine the prince had yanked it open in his hurry, and he sat up just a little so he could wrap his mouth around the head of Sigurd’s cock. There was already the bitter taste of precum on his tongue, and he let his teeth graze against the tip, fingers working at the base of his erection. There was a strangled sound from the prince almost immediately when his fingers dipped a little too low by accident, and Erikur was about to apologise when hot strands of cum landed on his tongue, and pulling back with a surprised snort, promptly had a string slathered across his cheek. Sigurd didn’t seem to have much stamina, he noted with a grin, and he poked his head from under the desk to look up. The prince was covering his face with his hands, but his blush was visable through the gaps in his fingers. Erikur laid the side of his face that was clean of cum on Sigurd’s thigh, lazily relacing them, then closed his eyes, rather satisfied with his work. He expected Sigurd to voice the request to get off him, but much to his surprise, the soft noise of the quill scratching against parchment was the only response. A hand gently threaded through his hair, and with a hum of content, Erikur let the minutes slide by, comfortable under the desk.

His body seemed to be taking full advantage of the time to sleep, because he dozed off there, aware of Sigurd moving occasionally and the sound of the door opening once or twice. He didn’t bother to move, though, because the prince was giving him a headrub, and it sent lovely spikes of pleasure down his neck.

When he woke again, Sigurd was carrying him to bed, and he looked vaguely up at the face of the prince before closing his eyes.

“Y’didn’t have to carry me.”

“I’m going to lunch. I’ll bring some back when I return.” Erikur didn’t bother responding as Sigurd laid him on the bed, curling up and letting sleep retake him while it still could.


End file.
